


Blood Honey

by AnastasiaNoelle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Bloodplay, Coercion, Death (via vampiric transformation), Degradation, F/M, Humiliation, Professor/Teaching Assistant Relationship, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnastasiaNoelle/pseuds/AnastasiaNoelle
Summary: “I’ve wanted to bite into you for so, so long.”You were whipped back into his orbit, your attention throttled back to the elegant planes of his face. Your lips parted to speak, but slowly closed again, your eyes blinking as you thought they were playing tricks on you.The golden hue of his irises was swirling, a deep crimson blossoming within the depths, blood dripping into honey.A fanfic in which vampiric Professor Tsukishima Kei toys with his teaching assistant.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 80





	Blood Honey

The incessant tapping of his pen was grating your nerves, the rhythm was ever changing, the sound piercing in the otherwise quiet office space. He was ruining your concentration, making your mind skip down and lose its place within the ever-bleeding mirage of ink stains on the final exams in your lap. The clicking sound made you want to scream—then again, anything Professor Tsukishima did got under your skin, and you were sure he always irritated you on purpose.

The semester was so close to being over—just three more exam days and the students could finally return home for winter break. You, however, were stuck in the _last place_ you ever wanted to be: the home office of the professor who had tortured you all semester and made your life as his teaching assistant a living hell. Sure, you’d heard all the horror stories about how pompous Kei Tsukishima was, how he loved to belittle his students and assistants alike, how he had even once sent a fellow _colleague_ into psychological counseling because he tore the man’s book to shreds in a public lecture. However, every warning about him paled in comparison to who he really was…the man was an unbearable _monster_ , one who got his arrogant rocks off by demeaning you at every opportunity given to him.

You’d known a few people who even called him vampiric; students under his tutelage either disappeared from the university all together or appeared to have the life drained from them.

But he was the top European Historian at your university, and teaching under him would be a huge boost to your resume. His bullshit was worth putting up with if it meant you could use his name as a stepping stone for your own career.

Not to mention, there was something so fascinatingly odd about him, something about him kept you trapped in his gravity well, always wanting to know a little more about what secrets were hidden beneath the borders of his frigid composure.

When you’d received his text earlier in the day, you had groaned aloud, dread brewing in your stomach as you saw the words “ _My place. 6:30. Bring the exams.”_ If anyone else had seen that text they could have easily assumed it was a booty-call, some sexual plea from professor to assistant at the end of the semester, but you knew it was a death sentence. 

He was going to watch you grade those exams and pick apart every little thing you did wrong.

And he did. You’d lost count of how many times he’d stepped behind you now, index finger reaching over your shoulder and waving over something wrong, his cold cheek brushing your neck or your ear and making you recoil. He smelled like whiskey and cologne—and a trace of something you couldn’t quite discern, iron? metal?— every time he entered your personal bubble, his scent and presence a little too stiff and overwhelming.

“No, no, you can’t give credit for that. That—that’s not an argument, that’s a boring piece of summary masked by the pretense of argument.”

“You haven’t even read the rest of the kid’s essay; you don’t know that.”

“ _Yes,_ I do, because if _you_ think it’s a good argument, it probably isn’t.” He huffed at you, returning to pacing around the darkening office and staring at the fresh snow falling outside the window, pen clicking aimlessly in his hand.

He’d been this way all semester, always picking at you, always finding something negative to say, like he was slowly sucking away your will to live.

At first, you’d thought his ill-temperament towards you was just because he was a cranky, tired professor who never had anything nice to say to anyone. But you quickly realized it was because he _knew_ you liked it.

You’d accidentally fucked up a class-wide email a few weeks into the course. You’d set the deadline for the first essay wrong, which contradicted his syllabus, which had every fucking student flooding your inbox and his with questions about the change or mistake.

So, he publicly shamed you to the class.

He had stood with his hands behind his back, his fucking tweed suit so well pressed it looked like it was hanging on a mannequin.

“Students,” he cleared his throat, “don't bother sending your question to Miss…” he paused, his glasses glinting under the fluorescent lights as he turned his attention to you in the front row, “what’s your name again?”

Was he fucking serious? All those emails and interviews and he couldn’t even remember your _name_?

You’d mumbled it to him, just loud enough for him to hear. But he pretended not to hear it anyways.

“Whatever, her name doesn’t matter. She's clearly not smart enough to answer your question on her own, just send them directly to me so I can promptly ignore them. Your first essay is due next week.”

And just like that, he went about his lecture schedule, as your mouth hung open in shock and your thighs pressed together in despair. _How dare he_ , you had cursed, a mixture of indignity and excitement coiling within your belly.

Your head was empty as he instructed the course, his voice ringing in your head but it wasn’t concerning the sixteenth-century class and village structures he was detailing.

If you had been paying attention, you would’ve noticed the all-too-arrogant smirk that crept onto his face every time he looked at you, eyes flashing with a hint of red behind the glint of his glasses.

When the clock struck three and it was time for the students to gather their things and shuffle away, you stood, empty notebook in your hand as you mindlessly marched up to him, lips pressed together like you were holding in a retort.

“Oh please,” he scoffed as you approached him.

“Professor Tsukishima I—” any semblance of words you were going to form eluded you the moment he leaned down, entering your personal space for the first (but absolutely not the last) time.

“You can toss your ruined panties in the trash in my office, since you seem to get off on the _shame_.”

And he said it purely because he knew it would ruin your week.

You could’ve sworn you saw something monstrous in him that day; he was always cold and calculating, but there was something on the edge of his smile that had an instinctual dread trickling down your senses.

The clicking of his pen brought you out of your memories and back to the situation at hand.

You felt like you were going to explode at the sound, at _him_. For months you had dealt with him now. Heard all his little complaints, took them with subtle retorts or silence in order to keep the peace. But your resolve was fading with every _fucking clickclack of that fucking pen_.

“If you don’t _stop it_ with the _pen_.”

“Stop it or what, little girl?” he moved away from the window, twirling the pen in his hand before saddling up beside you, “stop it or _what?_ ”

He put the pen to your forehead, bending down and watching you with clear delight as he pressed the retractable end into your skin, the spring inside the pen chiming with a poignant _click_ against your head.

“I. Hate. You.”

Your voice was venomous, months of toxic hatred pooling in your mouth.

“I know you do, and that’s what makes this so _fun_. Keep grading.”

“No. You’ll have to ma—”

“Oh, don’t say it, don’t say _make me_. For a split moment I thought you’d be cleverer than that. That’s so _boring_.”

He sighed and straightened himself, rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down.

But then he caught sight of you, your knuckles tight against the exam booklets, your eyes like bursting fire as you glared up at him through your lashes.

“That struck a nerve, didn’t it? Poor thing, you probably hate being called boring all the time.”

“You _piece of shit_ —”

“Ah, ah, careful, I still haven’t written up my review for your advisor.”

“Stop cutting me off. Ugh, god, just _shut up_ and let me finish this work so I can leave.”

You flipped open an exam again, ready to bury your nose in the essays, but he still stood before you. Kei crossed his arms, cleared his throat, pulled your attention back to his imposing form. His forearms were tight against the dress shirt, a few buttons undone to reveal a sparse plane of downy, flaxen hair.

For a professor he was...in shape, which was something else you hated about him; his attractiveness made you want to _think_ about him when in reality you just wanted to _forget_ him. He was so tall and imposing, all broad shoulders and tapered waist. He looked ethereal at times, what with the way his lithe fingers would run through his golden hair, amber eyes that seemed to churn with wickedness beneath the rim of his glasses.

He oftentimes seemed unearthly, like a man stepped out of time.

“You really want to get away from me so badly, don’t you? Why is that?”

You blinked at him.

“I don’t like you. You don’t like me. I’ll take these exams home and put them in your mailbox tomorrow and we can just _fuck off_.”

“That’s not going to happen. I need to supervise your grading. However…”

He let the words hang in the air, had you shifting forward as if getting closer to him would allow you to catch whatever he was about to throw at you.

“I’ll let you leave early and get away from me since you _hate_ me so much, but only if…” he watched you squirm, “ _only_ if you admit you actually like how I treat you.”

One, two, three heartbeats passed as you mulled over his words. _You_ knew you liked how he trifled with you, how he played with you like some toy to soon be forgotten by a too-curious cat. It was almost thrilling, to have a man with such authority put you into your place, as much as it was endlessly frustrating. Your relationship with him was, in fact, repulsive from every angle. You wanted to strangle him as much as you wanted him to suffocate you, wanted to criticize him as much you wanted him to belittle you.

“Admit it,” he demanded, tilting his head to the side as he observed you.

You sat back, moving the stack of exams from your lap into the floor. You crossed your arms to mimic his.

“There’s nothing to admit, Professor.”

“I have to say, the name _Professor_ does sound particularly good in your mouth.”

He noticed how your demeanor shifted, how your pretty face lightened at his words, lips parting and your fingers relaxing against your arms. Your eyes shifted their gaze to the floor, then back to him, like your little mind was trying to comprehend such a small, dirty compliment.

“Look at that, you respond to praise too. Maybe you aren’t so boring after all.”

Kei leaned forward, placing his hands on the armrests of the chair you sat in, effectively caging you within his presence. He was far too close; you felt like you were drowning in him, felt like if you opened your mouth to say a single word he would devour you and swallow you whole. You pressed your body back into the chair, leaned your face away, averted your eyes, but even still you felt that pressure, felt that longing to look at him.

“I’ve wanted to bite into you for so, so long.”

You were whipped back into his orbit, your attention throttled back to the elegant planes of his face. Your lips parted to speak, but slowly closed again, your eyes blinking as you thought they were playing tricks on you.

The golden hue of his irises was swirling, a deep crimson blossoming within the depths, blood dripping into honey.

You were awestruck, hypnotized into watching the brew of colors.

“What…what do you mean?” the words finally fell from your mouth.

“Exactly that,” spider-like fingers crept to your neck, his icy touch painting your skin, “you always knew there was something odd about me, didn’t you? You said it yourself in your interview—my methods are _strange_ , but you thought being my apprentice would be worth your while. If only you’d known the weight of your words.”

You struggled to find the memories he was referring too, your brain felt heavy within your skull. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your brows scrunching together as you tried to piece together what was happening. His hand fully enclosed around your throat with a touch far gentler than you imagined.

“You,” you took a deep breath from underneath his hand, “you aren’t human, are you?”

“I was.”

He smirked, that classic, shit-eating smirk you’d grown accustomed to seeing, but there was something different this time—fangs, pearly and stark against his lips.

“How do you think I became the leading historian on early modern Europe? I was there. It was my favorite time, really, back when people still believed in the supernatural, when I could easily feed.”

Bile was rising in your throat now, waves of shock and sickness prickling your skin.

“Relax. You’re not my dinner.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. I want to bite into you to make you less… _boring_.”

He stood then, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You were stunned into silence, just left to gawk up at him, eyes unsure if they should stare too long at his transformations. An aura of otherworldliness was pouring from him now, thick and heavy like a blanket in the air. How could you ever digest this? How could he ever let you leave knowing what you now know, even if you admitted that trivial little thing of being attracted to him, to his degradation?

He huffed, crossing his arms as he sensed all your trepidations and confusions.

“Finish the exams, then meet me in the kitchen. I have something for you.”

“No, I have to, I have to leave, I can’t—”

“Finish. The. Exams. No matter what I am, I’m still your superior, I still hold the key to your future. You finish those; if you run, I’ll catch you, kitten, and it would be a shame for you to be wasted as a measly meal.”

All that was left was the lingering notes of his cologne in the room.

You shakily picked the exam booklets from the floor, suddenly missing the simple worries of just the click-clacking of his pen.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You couldn’t even remember what any of the students had written. Every page was merely a mess of ink, letters bleeding together while your mind screamed, your instincts of fight or flight in so much turmoil that you were left only to freeze.

Closing the last booklet, your feet carried you to the kitchen as if you were a ghost.

“Professor, I—”

“Don’t speak, not unless you have something I truly want to hear.”

He was standing behind the kitchen island, eyes seeming even darker in dim light. Nimble fingers were inside a glass, using a cloth to dry its freshly cleaned surface.

You laid the booklets onto the granite counter, your hands lingering on the edges.

“I’ll need to read over those to ensure you graded accurately.”

You simply nodded in response; all your words were trapped inside your lungs. You glanced around the gorgeous kitchen, inwardly musing that it was a shame it was probably never used.

“Oh, you look so dejected, kitten. Come here.”

You followed obediently, rounding the island to stand before him. He set the glass down, his hands now smoothing over your arms.

“You don’t hate me, admit it,” he stated softly, a snarky, pointed grin pulling at his cheeks.

“I like how you treat me,” it was a whispered confession.

“There, that wasn’t so hard now was it? I never had any doubts, but I wanted to hear it from that pretty little mouth.”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip; his gaze narrowed in on the plump flesh.

“But I still hate you, _whatever_ you are.”

“A vampire, darling, and soon you will be too.”

Any form of protest died on your lips as he kissed you, wide and open-mouthed, his arms pulling you flush against his body. You groaned, fingers fisting into his button-down, unable to deny the rush of pleasure that welled inside of you. Of course, you’d pictured this before—pictured sucking his cock in his office while he demeaned you, thought of how powerful you’d feel to be able to make him moan. What you never imagined was that your tongue would be licking across an overly pointed canine, that there would truly be no warmth below his touch.

If you bit him, would he bleed?

You dared to try, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth when your mouths found a new rhythm. He groaned at the action; his flesh pliant but unwilling to break beneath your bite, or perhaps there was nothing to give. It was a different story when he mimicked you, his hands now smoothing over your back as a fang caught the bottom edge of your lip. The pain was quick, sharp, like a needle piercing into you, crimson dribbling down your chin.

Tsukishima shoved you against the counter, grip suddenly like steel and his mouth terribly hungry against your own. You could taste the iron when his tongue dipped back against yours, your blood syrupy, metallic, alive between melded lips.

“You taste sweeter than you act,” he murmured, using the advantage of his height to lift you onto the counter top. 

Closer now, you could entangle your arms around his neck, press your chest fully against his. He draped your legs around either side of his waist, his fingers too quickly working at the button of your trousers.

“I want you naked for this,” he demanded, lips popping from yours, “it’s how I’ve always imagined it.”

You didn’t even think to ask what _it_ was, your brain was so heavy now between fear and lust.

You aided him in his venture, tugging your shirt over your head and unfastening your bra. Both articles of clothing were discarded to the floor as your hands worked over his to pull your pants down your legs. Then, your attention was back to him, your fingers flying to rip the buttons from their homes on his shirt.

God he was so _fit._ He was like he was cut from the hands of Michelangelo, every dip and curve of his chest, his arms, even his abdomen, were so pronounced and delectable. He was lean but defined, so ready to have your fingers pool against pallid skin.

“You feel…so _alive_ ,” you muttered, hands spreading across his chest.

“I promise, you’ll live more than you ever did once you’re dead.”

His hands left your body and quickly pulled out a drawer next to your knee, a shining bottle glinting underneath the yellow light. Scarlet plasma sloshed inside, ready to spill once opened.

“Whose…?”

“A colleague with rather _dissenting_ opinions.”

You laughed in the face of the morbidity of it all.

“God, look at you,” he meditated for a moment, eyes trailing over your naked form before him. Your flesh pebbled at his arctic touch. He took one of your breasts into his hand, a low groan emitting from his chest that had your thighs squeezing against his waist. Quickly his touch trailed upwards, back to the place on your neck he had eyed earlier in his office.

“Despite your nature, I knew you’d give in to me.”

You realized you’d never even questioned this, questioned yourself.

Then again, did you truly have an option? It was be turned or run…and he had lived for god knows how long, and the temptation of immortality could surpass all sour thoughts, couldn’t it?

“Why me?” you asked yourself more than him.

“As tiresome as you might be, you are rather intriguing. You’re fun to toy with, and now I just want to keep playing with you.”

“You’re so arrogant,” you scoffed.

Tsukishima only tutted in response, his lips parting with a fully fanged smirk. He leaned close, his towering body dwarfing yours, one hand tugging the back of your head to arch your neck.

“And you’re a little bitch, but you’re my little bitch, aren’t you?”

The question was punctuated by his fangs piercing into your throat.

A quiet, almost silent scream was pushed from your mouth. Your vision began to blur at the intense pain, your hands now gripping the edge of the counter. His tongue was voracious, mouth sucking blood and soul from your body. It was white-hot, blinding, like you were consistently fainting over and over again but never quite reaching that dark edge of unconsciousness.

You were between worlds, a figure floating in purgatory.

And then, the pleasure erupted. It was like threads of sanity snapping, ripping apart at the seams. You cried out in ecstasy as Tsukishima pulled his tainted lips from your throat.

“La petite mort, darling. I promise the expression was coined by vampires experiencing their little deaths.”

His lips were back to yours, copper sweet within the tastes of his mouth. He captured your moans, echoing them back to you as he held you. He kept pulling you deeper into his gravity well as he stole the very last of your breath.

Your vision fully turned black as you died, your body listless and floating against him.

And then, it was only hunger as you awoke.

You were kissing him again before you realized it, ravenous to find the saccharine remains of your metallic liquid that once gave you life.

“Easy, easy,” he cooed, grabbing the vile he had set out for you earlier, “I’ll take care of you.”

He dipped the rim of the glass against your lips, eyes wicked and curious as he watched your pink tongue lap at its contents, blood spilling from the edge and down your body like he had always wanted to see.

You were hardly sated when the glass was empty, your mind a frenzied haze. Kei drew sanguine patterns in the warmth dribbling down your breasts, whisking his fingers back up to your mouth to have you suckle them.

“Professor, I…” you paused, trying to take in heaving breaths, but not finding that familiar relief of air expanding within your lungs.

“It takes a while to get used to,” he stated, vermillion stained fingers now swirling against your cheek, “I’ll explain it all later.”

“I want you,” you moaned, hands finally releasing the edge of the counter and tanging in soft, golden hair.

And you knew he wanted you too. From the way your legs spread around his hips, you could feel the outline of his erection straining against his slacks, pressing into the seam of your panties. You blinked slowly, your eyesight feeling _strained_ , like everything was suddenly magnified. You glimpsed down, eyes dancing across your blood-soaked body. The crimson liquid of life was turning black against the air, dripping across your curves, pooling against the counter. You could feel it drying against your lips, your chin, and you eyed how it coated Tsukishima’s face as well.

“Mhm, my forever play toy, my little slut. How do you feel?”

“Like I’m in a dream and I can’t see what is real anymore.”

“Then let me pull you back to earth.”

He bent down, trailing his tongue along your chest, weaving it through the expanse of thickening liquid to find your nipple. He sucked the soaked flesh into his mouth, his fangs dragging along your still stinging skin. His action had your tongue licking across your own teeth, feeling for something new. Your gums ached and a sharp prick pierced into your tongue.

Tsukishima dug his fingers into your thighs, spreading you farther apart as he began to grind himself against you, creating warm, glowing embers of pleasure to boil beneath your skin. He continued to lap at your skin, mouth alternating between your breasts as he cleaned and consumed the darkening blood.

“Have you thought about fucking me before?”

You moaned aloud at his question, but quickly you pressed your lips together like you had given yourself away.

“I’ve thought about you,” he admitted, “ _just like this_ , covered in blood, your dumb little mind trying to figure out what all is happening to you.”

“Yes, I have, Professor. I’ve thought about you…”

“Oh yea? And how did I fuck you?”

Your eyes widened and you turned your face away from him, the instinct to hide blush still there despite no fresh fluid ready to rise to your cheeks.

“Well, it was never like _this_.”

He chuckled then, the sound dark and sinister.

Tsukishima pulled your panties from your hips, easily lifting you up and settling you back down against the now slippery countertop. You leaned up to meet him, pressing your slick chest against his, painting his beautiful, alabaster chest red. You pulled eagerly at his belt, your ears ringing with the clinging of metal.

“I always wanted you to fuck me on your desk.”

“That can be arranged, my little slut.”

His slacks pooled at his feet, followed quickly by his boxers. His cock sprang against his lower stomach, thick and oh so long, matching his proportions beautifully.

“I just…how can…?” you couldn’t bring yourself to actually ask.

“Why do you think we need to drink blood, darling? It allows me to replace that which I don’t have. It normally remains dormant, but it flows when I need it to. Touch me, you’ll see.”

Your fingers— _wait, were your nails sharper?_ —enveloped his cock, silken and hard to the touch. He smirked at the awed expression on your face, his arrogance shining through once again over his well endowment.

“Never mind fucking you on my desk, I’ll have your permanent seat be underneath it, where you can wrap that rude little mouth around my cock.”

“Yes, sir,” you felt mindless, entranced by touching him. His skin was cool, but not frigid, more like the chill that was hidden within an early autumn wind.

“You can gawk later; I’ve waited all semester to fuck you.”

Tsukishima shooed your hand away, taking his place back between your thighs. Your hands found his shoulders, thick and sinewy under your fingertips. You still felt like you were in a fog, like you were hungry for blood but also for that feeling of ecstasy once again—would an orgasm ever compare to resurrection?

His fat cock began to press into your cunt, spreading you apart slowly but surely. Your pussy burned at the stretch, brows twisting in pain, but you had a feeling he’d be like this, that he’d be a little sadistic. He held your hips more tightly, grabbing you and pulling you forward hard, fast, burying himself inside of you completely. You cried out, that deep coil of ecstasy suddenly alive again, churning, pulling tighter, pain and pleasure bleeding together until all you could feel was him, Tsukishima, balls deep inside of you. You’d never felt so full, so whole, so _alive_ , and everything inside of you craved more of _everything_.

“God, _fuck_ ,” you hissed, nails biting into his shoulders as your head tipped back.

“I wouldn’t say his name,” he grunted, “he doesn’t like us very much.”

“Shut. Up.”

Your teeth were grinding together now as you grew accustomed to his girth, your thighs aching and your inner walls clenching around him. Tsukishima inclined his head towards your neck again, his mouth latching over the lingering indentions from his fangs.

He began to slam into you, uncaring of if you were adjusted or not; he’d been patient long enough. He set a brutal pace, fucking you like a little bitch in heat, cool body coiling around you like a snake would his prey. Every deep thrust of his cock had you cooing, moaning, screaming at the intense waves of euphoria that stemmed from where his cock met your most sensitive spots. Over, and over, and over again, he plunged into you, rocked your body against his, his tight hands around your thighs the only thing keeping your hips in place on the counter.

“Mhm, you’re still warm,” he groaned, nipping at your ear.

You were grinding back against him now, your body eager and desperate for more, more _more_. You could still taste iron on your tongue, feel it settling into your skin. The thrumming of his cock inside of you was only fanning your desires, each stroke sending that new jolt of pleasure down your spine.

He was expert at this craft, his hips positioned just perfectly so that his cockhead could brush against that deliciously fleshy patch inside of you that had your eyes fluttering and your legs tightening around him. One of his hands found its home upon your breast, nimble fingers tweaking and pulling at a blood coated nipple. The other was snaking its way to where your bodies conjoined.

“You know,” a moan cut into your words, “There were many times I— _oh fuck_ —wished you were dead.”

He chuckled as his thumb found your clit.

“And I always wanted to kill you, you little bitch, and now I have.”

He nuzzled his face into your neck, tongue outlining the curve of your throat with a cold, wet stripe. His thumbed poignantly swirled around your clit in tight circles, making your thighs quiver. Being spread so wide across his cock left your clit entirely unprotected and absolutely far too sensitive for the rough circling of his fingers. Your mind was reeling with unbridled lust, your body bucking down against his hand and cock and begging for release.

You were in a delirium, caught somewhere between heaven and hell as your professor took your body for his pleasure. There was no hot breath against your neck from his voice, just the vibrations from his vocal cords as he grunted through the pleasure.

“Mhm, I need, I need _more,_ Professor, please!”

“More of what, slut? Say it.”

“I’m so _hungry_ , for you, for…for,” you couldn’t bring yourself to say it.

“ _Say it_ ,” he demanded, fangs threatening the skin of your throat with every thrust.

“Blood! Oh god, for _blood_.”

He kept strumming you, a purr resounding from his chest when he felt your inner walls cinch around him. You were practically convulsing, your pussy sucking him in deeper and begging for him.

“I’ll give you more, kitten, but only after you cum for me.”

You cried out in exaltation, like you were singing a dark hymn from hell itself. For someone so cold, he made you feel like you were on fire, like there was deep burning from within the pits of your womb.

Something inside you wanted to resist, like you were still fighting against his arrogance like you had been all semester. But then, the muscles in your abdomen and within your pussy clenched and released like waves on a sloppy shore, the orgasmic ladder building and shifting you higher with every plunge of his cock inside of you.

“Tsukki, Tsukki, I’m gonna— _gonna cum_!”

A strangled sound came from his throat at the sound of his name in your mouth. His fingers rubbed more tightly on your clit, the others now kneading at crimson breast with so much force that it had your back arching.

All your senses came crashing down, every small detail becoming more alive and ever present than before, even before death. It was all so much, the pleasure pooling in your belly and spreading across your body like lightning crackling underneath your cooling skin. Your legs were aching, cunt fluttering and sucking against the fatness of his cock, blood dripping down your body, the taste of it still addictive on your tongue, his balls slapping against your ass cheeks.

But it wasn’t enough, not for such a glutton like Tsukishima. He kept pressing you, cock curving deep inside of you at an even faster pace, his ministrations upon your clit ceaseless. You cried out, vision blurring like you were dying all over again, a fresh pull of ecstasy making your crash and fall against his body with another orgasm.

You felt blissed out, an empty shell as Tsukishima growled and nearly tore at your flesh with his urgency. You had creamed all over his throbbing cock, encouraging him to fuck a little harder, push a little deeper. He heard little honeyed gasps from your mouth, felt your spent pussy still pulling him in so fucking well, so fucking perfect like he knew you would.

He kissed you again, uncaring of how his fangs clashed against yours, still sore and filling your mouth. You could feel his thrusts become more erratic, more desperate. His hands relented and found your hips, keeping you still and steady as he rammed himself inside of you, using you as the means to his end.

And then he stopped, cock pulsing and his grip so tight that his nails pierced into your thighs.

He cursed and mumbled your name, wrapping his arms around your spent body and keeping you close.

It felt like the weight of the world crashed around you in the afterglow of sex, confusions of mortality and immorality churning inside your mind.

You began to cry, a few hot tears streaming down your face until there weren’t anymore left to give; your last human tears, and you cried them into the shoulder of Tsukishima.

“Prof—Professor…” you whispered, holding back sobs.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he shushed you, pulling you back to where he could look at you. He was so beautiful, honey color seeping back into his irises.

You wrapped your legs tighter around him, a new instinct settling in. Home. Comfort. Him. Tsukishima. You. Together.

“I’ll take care of you, even if you are a little brat. Fledglings are quite attached to the one who changed them.”

He picked you up from the counter, his cock still buried inside of you as you clung to him.

“But you don’t like me.” you stated, arms tangling around his shoulders and your face nuzzled into his neck.

“Hush, darling, I’ve always liked you. Teasing you is just half the fun.”

Long strides carried you to a washroom.

“I’ll clean you up and give you a proper dinner, how does that sound? Are you still hungry?”

Words from earlier rustled within your ears, your proclamations of bloodlust and his humiliating words.

“Yes I’m...I’m _so hungry_ , Tsukki. Will the hunger ever go away?”

He finally slipped his cock out of you when he set you into his tub. You felt empty again, confused. He had to pry your hands from his shoulders.

“You get used to the lingering feeling.”

It wasn’t a hopeful answer.

Tsukishima knelt by the bath, turning the faucet until warm water began to fill the porcelain over your toes, water rising up your legs and turning pink as it washed away the sin. He took your cheeks in his hands, thumbs wiping away the remnants of your tears. He smiled, fangs gone, receded back into his gums to lie dormant until needed again.

“You said it yourself,” he mused, “you like the way I treat you. I promise I can treat you better than anyone else if you’ll let me. I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“You’re a terrible teacher,” you teased, a smile finally pricking at your cheeks.

“And you’re a terrible grader. I’m going to go review those exams while you clean up, alright?”

“No, don’t—”

“I’m sure they aren’t that bad—”

“No,” you sighed, “don’t leave me. I’m not ready to be alone.”

He nodded, a warm, almost friendly expression upon his delicate features as he pulled a towel into his lap and then a washcloth into his hand, taking his time to help clean you in the silence.

It was strange to think that one evening could change the course of your life—or was this technically the afterlife for you? There were many philosophical questions about it all that you weren’t ready to deal with. But you knew you’d always have someone to guide you, to help you cope, even if Tsukishima was the most arrogant academic you’d ever come across.

“I like the way you treat me,” you mumbled it again, head lolling to the side of the bath, “but I don’t think I’ll ever like you.” You knew it was a lie; you were already smitten, pulled so far into his gravity that you didn’t even want to escape.

He chuckled, wholeheartedly and kind, a hand coming to rest at the place he’d bitten your neck.

“I literally have eternity to change your mind, my little slut.”


End file.
